She waits, but Felicity doesn’t fall into such an obvious trap. After a moment, Kiara continues: ‘You took the batteries out of the cordless phone and threw them into the bush, along with the key to the Tarago. But you’d made another mistake: Dom wasn’t dead. Fatally wounded, certainly, but he regained consciousness. He would have been dizzy, nauseated and very confused. It’s also common to feel cold after a severe head injury. And because you’d dragged him into Oscar and Isla’s room, there was an exterior door leading to the back deck. So Dom sat up, walked out the door and climbed into the hot tub.

  Then he died. We thought he’d been attacked from behind by a right-handed killer while he was in the tub. But he was attacked from in front by a left-handed killer—you.

  ‘After everyone else was out, you went back into the bedroom so you could supposedly discover Dom’s body. But it was gone. You panicked again. You thought Dom had survived the attack and fled. I’m guessing you were pretty confused when you found him in the hot tub—until Clementine mentioned that people often wander around after a traumatic brain injury.’

  ‘This is all bullshit,’ Felicity says. ‘Cole owed money to Dom. He thought killing him would clear the debt. How come you’re not out there looking for Cole? You’re wasting valuable time.’

  Kiara won’t be sidetracked. ‘Your biggest problem was Oscar,’ she goes on. ‘If he told anyone the two of you had arranged to pick the same room, someone would work out what you’d done. That’s why you got rid of the batteries and the key—so you could deal with him before anyone talked to the cops. When everyone hiked down the mountain towards the road, you followed them with an axe, wearing the mask you’d intended to frame Isla with and the goggles Dom had packed for the hot tub. You attacked Oscar once he was alone, but he fought you off and escaped into the bush. You had to steal a bike from Seb’s camp site and race up the driveway to make sure you got to the house before Cole and Clementine.

  ‘That night, you volunteered to take first watch. You were waiting for everyone to fall asleep so you could murder Oscar in his bed—then he made it easy by coming out to the kitchen to talk to you. You slit his throat, but Isla saw you, and you had to kill her too. Now you were in real trouble. Isla was supposed to be a scapegoat for the police to focus on. But after all the effort you’d put into framing her, now she was dead and useless. You were running out of people to shift the blame onto. You’d killed five victims now—including your old boyfriend, the one with the sword.’

  Kiara pauses, waiting for Felicity to correct her. If she says four, or three, or any number other than zero, that’s an admission of guilt. Felicity has made that kind of error before. But she stays silent.

  It was worth a shot, Kiara thinks.

  ‘You couldn’t let Cole and Clementine come downstairs and see you standing over both bodies,’ she goes on. ‘So you put Isla in the only available hiding place—the oven. Then you confused the scene a bit, walking to Isla’s room and back, and screamed for help. You let the Kellys conclude that Isla had murdered Oscar, but you were careful not to say you’d actually seen her do it, because you were planning to tell the police it was Cole. So he and Clementine barricaded themselves upstairs, and you fled down the mountain.

  ‘When you were in police custody, you told us the others were armed and dangerous. You were hoping we’d shoot first and ask questions later, just like we had with your old boyfriend. But this time I stopped them. You must have been devastated when Clementine and Cole survived.

  ‘You nearly got away with it, though. That was quite a performance you put on during our first interview. You only screwed up once, and I didn’t notice at the time.’ Kiara gestures to the camera. ‘But I watched the recording again. When I told you two people were dead, you said, Two? At the time, I thought that meant you didn’t know about Oscar’s death, but it’s clear that you did, since you were standing over his body. You said two, because there should have been three.’

  Felicity’s brow furrows the tiniest amount.

  ‘The only person who could have known about the third body,’ Kiara says, ‘was the killer.’ She leans back in her chair, trying to look self-assured. ‘Game. Set. Match.’

  Please, please, please, she thinks.

  ‘That’s it?’ Felicity says, surprised.

  Kiara nods.

  ‘That’s all you’ve got?’

  ‘It’s enough,’ Kiara says, but disappointment is already settling over her.

  ‘That doesn’t prove anything.’ An amazed look creeps across Felicity’s face. ‘You have no evidence at all.’

  Kiara persists. ‘If you have another explanation for knowing about that third body—’

  ‘I didn’t.’ Felicity sounds more confident now. ‘I only said two because I wanted to check that I’d heard you correctly. That’s it.’

  ‘Bullshit.’

  Their eyes meet. Felicity is lying, and Kiara knows it, and Felicity knows she knows it. But the forensic evidence is unclear, and there are other suspects with motives and no alibis. It can’t be proven beyond reasonable doubt in a court of law that Felicity is guilty, so the Director of Public Prosecutions is unlikely to make the attempt. Felicity knows that, too.

  Kiara has failed. The murders of Dominic Pritchard, Oscar Woodleigh and Isla Madden will all go unsolved.

  Felicity stands up again. ‘I’m very sorry to hear about Isla. Her family must be devastated. But dealing with my husband’s death is a full-time job. If you have no more questions for me, I have to go learn what “probate” is. It sounds obscene—like a cross between “probe” and “prostate”.’

  ‘You’re not going anywhere,’ Kiara says. ‘You’re under arrest.’

  A trace of a smile flickers over Felicity’s face. ‘No, I’m not. This is a voluntary interview. Everything you’ve said about what happened in that house is speculation.’

  ‘That’s true,’ Kiara admits. She thumps the door, and Rohan enters. He stands in the corner, lanky arms folded.

  ‘Well, then.’ Felicity picks up her handbag from the back of her chair.

  ‘I’m not arresting you for killing your husband,’ Kiara says. ‘I’m arresting you for killing your neighbour.’

  Felicity’s smile fades. ‘My what?’

  ‘It turns out you lived right next door to a hit-and-run victim: Anton Rabbek, born 3 February 1971, blood type A negative. He was killed not long before you booked in your husband’s Jaguar to have a dented bonnet fixed. The bonnet was very clean, which was odd. I wondered, Who washes their car right before they take it in for smash repairs? But it hadn’t been cleaned deeply enough—we managed to scrape some A negative blood from the cracks. We’ll get a DNA match soon enough. I’m guessing Anton saw you and Oscar together, and you were concerned he’d tell your husband. Or maybe he mowed his lawn at 6 a.m., or maybe he had a dog that barked all night, or maybe you just killed him for fun—I don’t really care. With the blood, we don’t need a motive.’ Kiara gets out her handcuffs. ‘I can’t get you for all five murders. But I can get you for one.’

  Tendons bulge in Felicity’s wrists and neck. Her lips pull back to expose her canines. Her hands uncurl, claws out.

  But a split second later she looks calm again. Reasonable. Human. ‘I want a lawyer.’

  Kiara nods and closes her case folder. ‘Good call.’

  Five hours later, the preliminary paperwork is done. As Kiara walks through the car park, she finally feels like she can breathe. Another killer in custody, another victim avenged, the rest of the world a little bit safer. She puts her aviators on and tilts her head back so the afternoon sun can warm her face.

  This is just the beginning. Kiara will have to brief the media. She has to collect victim impact statements from the families. Make sure her report is iron-clad, so some slick lawyer can’t argue lack of due process. The trial could take months to complete, particularly if Felicity doesn’t plead guilty, although Kiara is pretty sure she will: she’s smart enough to know she’ll lose in court.

  The Tesla is here, in the car park. Kiara never saw it following her home from the real estate agency, so she can’t prove it was Felicity who sabotaged her brakes. Maybe it was some other psycho. There’s no shortage. But that’s a problem for another day.

  Kiara struts towards her own car—then hesitates. Turns around again. The Tesla looks like it’s riding low at the back.

  She doesn’t have a warrant to search it. But she has a feeling, the kind of instinct she’s learnt to trust. She raps her knuckles on the boot.

  For a second, nothing happens. Then there’s a muffled moan from inside.

  Even before Kiara breaks the lock and wrenches the lid upwards, she knows it will be Cole Kelly. When she sees him crammed into the boot, his head mummified in duct tape, she thinks, Hey, I might get Felicity for those other murders after all.

  EPILOGUE

  The funeral celebrant is a big woman with Harry Potter glasses who tells stories from the couple’s lives in her rich, cheery voice. She does a decent job of acting like she knew both Isla and Oscar. Maybe she did. Small town.

  Kiara doesn’t have to be here. The killer has been caught—there’s no need to study the congregation for signs of guilt. And she has plenty of other work to do, the herd of cold cases growing faster than she can thin it. But she’s learnt from those old, divorced, burned-out cops that this is important. If you stop going to the funerals, pretty soon you stop caring about the victims, and then you forget the whole reason you joined the force. She’ll be at Dom’s funeral tomorrow, and that of the next victim, and the next. She’s just got word from Rohan that Jennings decided not to make the complaint, perhaps realising it would call attention to his incompetence. He’s gone back to Newcastle. The deputy commissioner is pleased with her work. This wasn’t her last case after all.

  She stands near the back of St Barnabas’ Church so no one has to go without a seat. It’s cold outside, but the space is warm from all the hemmed-in mourners. Half the town has turned out. Oscar’s sister came from Rotterdam, and his parents have driven from Maitland. Isla’s mum and dad are here, looking frail. All the parents look like older versions of their children. It’s strange to think that Oscar and Isla were just kids, once.

  Isla’s university friends, who scattered all over the country after graduation, have come. Kiara can tell who they are—their clothes and hairstyles make them seem worldly, or perhaps otherworldly. Many look shell-shocked; it’s as though, faced with the dead, they’re realising nothing they cared about last week actually mattered.

  In the front row, Noah is sitting on the lap of Isla’s brother. The boy looks at the twin coffins with the blank stare kids sometimes get around death. Kiara doesn’t have much experience with children, but she knows it’s important to keep them away from violence—not because they might get upset, but because they might not. They might decide it’s normal, then build their worldview around that foundation. It’s hard to know if Noah understands why his parents never came home from their holiday, but Kiara can tell his uncles love him. Hopefully that will be enough.

  The only free seats are on either side of Clementine and Cole. It’s like they’re radioactive. Cole’s head is still bandaged, his arm in a sling; apparently he broke it when he hit the ground after Felicity knocked him out with a garden mallet. His other hand is on Clementine’s belly.

  Kiara is surprised to see the Kellys sitting together. When Cole handcuffed and choked his wife, he scared the hell out of her, whether he realised it at the time or not. Clementine accused her husband of murder, and held him at knifepoint. How could any relationship come back from that?

  Then again, they know one another better than they did two weeks ago. Perhaps there’s more trust, not less. This whole experience may have taken their relationship to new heights—or new depths. Maybe that’s what marriage means: having so much dirt on each other that you’re inclined to forgive the unforgiveable.

  Felicity has remained silent since her arrest, which means the police don’t know what she was planning to do with Cole. But Kiara can guess, given what happened to the old boyfriend, and the neighbour, and the occupants of the two caskets. Felicity seems like the sort of person who finds the same solution to every problem. If Cole had disappeared forever, he probably would have been blamed for the murders at the house on the mountain.

  The celebrant finishes her speech. Oscar’s sister gets up. From behind the lectern, she speaks about her little brother with a sort of wonder. Some of her stories make people laugh, though Oscar’s parents cry the whole way through. Everyone sounds likeable in their eulogy, even a man who was unfaithful to his wife.

  She talks about how her brother called her out of the blue to talk about a beautiful girl he’d met at uni. As she describes the glow in his voice, and her own joy that he’d found someone he really clicked with, Kiara’s nose stings, and her eyes are suddenly wet. There’s somewhere else she needs to be.

  By the time the pallbearers approach the coffins, Kiara has gone.

  She meets Elise at the cafe next to the real estate agency: the cafe they first fought over, when Elise brandished the stained receipt. Elise is wearing a T-shirt and jeans with dirty knees. It doesn’t look like she’s brushed her hair or showered. She’s beautiful, and Kiara’s heart aches.

  ‘Hang on a second,’ Elise is saying. ‘All six of them were in bed with their own partners?’

  A man at a nearby table gives them an alarmed look.

  ‘Dominic and Felicity never made it to the bed,’ Kiara says. ‘But yeah, Clementine was with Cole, and Oscar was with Isla. There was no partner swapping at all.’

  ‘How could anyone have sex with their own spouse and not realise it?’

  Kiara shrugs. ‘Straight people suck. I think they’d all just … lost touch with each other.’

  ‘It’s ridiculous. If I was with you, I’d always know.’ Elise hardly ever blushes, but now she seems very focused on the foam in her cappuccino.

  Kiara smiles. ‘Me too. I’d never mistake you for anyone else.’

  Elise is silent for a long moment. Then she says, ‘What will happen to Oscar and Isla’s son?’

  Kiara’s smile fades. ‘He’s staying with his uncles. Apparently they’ve been trying to adopt for a long time. One of them said it was like an ironic curse—like he’d killed Oscar and Isla by wishing so badly for a child.’

  ‘It’s so sad.’ Elise’s voice cracks.

  Reaching across the table, Kiara puts a hand over hers. ‘Yeah, it is.’

  A customer arrives, and the door bangs. Elise doesn’t flinch at the sound, doesn’t even turn to look. She’s making progress. Kiara wishes she could be a part of it.

  ‘I want you to know that I’m here for you,’ she says.

  Elise blinks. ‘Here for me?’

  ‘Even if you don’t—’ Kiara’s throat closes up. ‘Even if we’re not together, I still care about you. Whoever’s leaning on you, I can help.’ She suppresses a sad little laugh. ‘This time I promise my help will be helpful.’

  Elise still looks confused. ‘Leaning on me?’

  ‘I know, all right?’ Kiara says. ‘I know someone is blackmailing you. I know they’ve been calling you from a private number, and that you were meeting them around here somewhere. I know you’ve been withdrawing cash. I know you took my jewellery to sell. But it’s all okay. Whatever it is they have on you, I don’t care. I’ll still be on your side.’

  Elise’s eyebrows shoot up. ‘You think I’m being blackmailed?’

  ‘You’re not?’

  ‘About what, exactly?’

  ‘Well, I don’t know. I just said that.’

  Elise giggles so much that a snort comes out. She covers her nose with her palm.

  ‘What’s so funny?’ Kiara demands.

  ‘It all makes sense now.’ Elise takes a breath, getting a hold of herself. ‘That’s why you wanted to get me away from the town. It’s why you’ve been so weird and possessive.’

  ‘I wouldn’t say I’ve been weird—’

  ‘You’ve been very weird. And you’re a terrible detective.’

  ‘Hey!’

  Elise reaches into her pocket. ‘The person calling me was a jeweller. I took your lucky ring to get your finger size.’

  Before Kiara can decode that, Elise produces a black velvet box. She holds it out. Kiara stares at it.

  ‘I took this with me,’ Elise says, ‘on the weekend. But with the boy hiding in the roof, and Whitmey and Vickers hanging around, and the dead body in the oven … well, it never quite seemed like the right moment.’

  Kiara is still staring. That can’t be what she thinks it is.

  As if reading her mind, Elise opens the box. A small cushion-cut diamond sparkles inside, set in a rose gold ring. ‘I’d been putting it off. I wanted things to be a bit more stable first. I wanted to be more stable. Someone on Instagram said you have to be happy with yourself before you can be happy with someone else. But life is short. So I decided …’

  Kiara is speechless. She thinks of all the clues she misinterpreted. Elise is right—she’s a terrible detective.

  Elise misreads her silence as reluctance. ‘I know we’re broken up now. But you deserve to know: you were it, for me. I never wanted anyone the way I wanted you.’ She blinks a few times. ‘I know I’m jumpy, angry, maybe too proud. But, maybe, if you felt like giving us another—’

  Kiara throws herself across the table, knocking over a salt shaker, and kisses her.

  ‘You’re it for me, too,’ she whispers.

  The rest of the world disappears. Elise’s nose is cold against Kiara’s cheek, but her lips are soft and warm. Her fingernails trace up the back of Kiara’s neck and weave themselves into her hair. Kiara puts one hand on Elise’s chest, feeling the thumping of her heart. She barely notices the spilled coffee soaking into her other sleeve.